


Shotgun

by withoutaplease



Series: Boyfriend Sam [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has made reader an irresistible offer, and she travels to the bunker to convince both Winchesters that she’s there to stay.  Follows the events of Loser Takes the Couch and Go Look Out the Window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Sam x female reader, Dean  
> Summary: Sam has made reader an irresistible offer, and she travels to the bunker to convince both Winchesters that she’s there to stay. Follows the events of Loser Takes the Couch and Go Look Out the Window.  
> Warnings: I write smut.  
> Author’s note: Have you ever had a relationship that started out purely physical, but then you totally caught feelings like a hopeless romantic dumbass? That’s what happened to this series. I remain, as ever, trash.

               The car hits a bump and you jostle awake, startled.  You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and are relieved to find that you haven’t been drooling. Looking out the passenger side window, all you can see are shadows in the shape of trees against the cloudy, starless sky.  If it wasn’t for the headlights cutting a path along the highway, there would be no light at all.  Sam takes his eyes off the road for a second to look over at you.  “Sorry to wake you,” he says softly, “it was either that pothole or a bunny.”

               “Stupid bunny,” you mutter. You rub your eyes and stretch your arms out as best you can.  “How long was I out?” you ask, reaching into the backseat for a bottle of water.

               “You started snoring about an hour ago,” Sam says with a little laugh.

               You groan.  “That’s _it?_ That means we have like . . .”

               “Five hours to go.”

               “Whose idea was this again?” you whine, drinking half of the water in one go and making a face when you find it warm.  Sam reaches over to take it from you, giving your hand a little squeeze in the process.

               “The trip,” he says, “or me driving all night?  Because that part was all you.”   He glances at you sidelong and finishes the bottle. 

               “I didn’t think twelve hours would take this long,” you offer lamely.  He chuckles and rests his hand on your thigh.  You lie back against the headrest and let your eyes drift to the window, the dark world coasting by hypnotically, a small smile settling on your lips. The more miles Sam puts between you and your real life, the less this seems like the craziest decision you’ve ever made. You glance back at him, and he’s focused on the road, but he’s wearing the same smile you are.

               You close your eyes for just a minute, and open them to find there’s faint light in the sky and Sam has turned off the highway.  “Was I out again?” you ask.

               “Definitely.  Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

               “What??”

               “Oh, yeah. You had a _lot_ to say.  It was very educational.”  He keeps a straight face for all of two seconds, then starts to laugh.  You smack his arm in feigned indignation.  “Okay, you didn’t say anything.  But I have to tell you, you really do snore. You might want to get that checked out.”

               “Sorry,” you say, chuckling through your frown. You look out the windshield to find you’re on a dirt road, surrounded closely by trees and brush.  “Where are we going?”

               “You’ll see,” he says.  You bump along slowly through several twists and turns, then you crest a hill and find yourselves looking out over a sprawling valley, just visible in the feeble morning light.  Sam slows the car to a halt and shifts it into park.  “Come on,” he says eagerly, opening his door and stepping outside.  “I need to stretch my legs.” 

               He comes around to the passenger side and opens your door for you.  You take his hand and let him help you up onto stiff legs.  The morning air is cool, but it’s refreshing after eight hours in the car.  “So you just randomly knew about this majestic scenic overlook?” you tease, as the two of you start to walk, hand in hand.

               “I drive a _lot_ ,” he answers.  “Besides, you said you wanted to look at the leaves.  I didn’t want you to miss out after you changed your mind about our walk yesterday.”

               “I didn’t _change my mind_ about the walk,” you say, unable to suppress your grin, “Somebody made it so that I _couldn’t_ walk.  Big distinction.” He laughs a cocky laugh that’s hopelessly contagious, and moves behind you to wrap his arms around your shoulders and look out at the sunrise starting in the valley.

               “Yeah,” he says, resting his chin on the top of your head, “that was a good day.”

               The clouds are just starting to clear, and they light up pink and violet and indigo.  The trees in the valley pick up the light, blazing yellow and red. You don’t even know where you are right now, but it’s exactly where you want to be.  “This one’s all right, too,” you say, turning away from the view to look up at Sam.  For a second, his eyes glow with the reflection of the sunlight, then he’s leaning down to kiss you, long and soft, and rubbing his nose against yours as he pulls away.

               You sigh drowsily, contentedly, staring back out over the valley.  “Thank you for bringing me here.”

               Sam doesn’t take his eyes off you.  “Thank you for coming with me.”

               You stand silently watching the sky together until the colours fade and it turns a less spectacular gray.   Walking back toward the car, Sam splays his hand across your back, letting his fingers creep up under your shirt.  You’re about to open the passenger side door when he wraps his arm around your waist and whisks you backwards into him.  He pulls you in close and presses himself against you.  He runs both hands up under the front of your shirt as you lean back against him.  He may have been up all night, but he’s fully awake.

               You moan, half in arousal, half in protest.  “I’m so tired,” you whine, as his hands roam over your bra and he nuzzles into your neck. 

               “What if I do all the work?” he murmurs into your ear, following his words with his tongue and sending shivers dancing down your back as he licks and nips at your ear.  You break out in goosebumps ahead of the fall air chilling your belly as he lifts your shirt and jacket up over your head.  He tosses them onto the hood of the car and folds himself around you to keep you warm, leaving kisses on your shoulders.  When he unbuttons your jeans and snakes one of his hands down into them, your body responds predictably, and you arch your back against his fingers pressing inside you. 

               “Well?” he says, working his fingers slowly in and out of you, letting his palm press into your clit.  You moan and lean forward, planting your hands on the hood for support and pressing your ass back against him.  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, grinding his erection against you and working his hand faster into your pussy. He runs his free hand up under your bra while he finger-fucks you, pushing it up to free your breasts and exposing your nipples to the cold.  He takes one between his fingers and pinches, and your knees buckle.

               “Fuck me,” you breathe, as you’re grinding yourself down onto his hand. 

               “You got it, darling,” he says, his voice low and hoarse.  Then his hand is gone and he’s using it to shove your jeans down over your hips.  You turn to face him, and his lips are on yours in an instant, his tongue pushing them open.  He slams his hips into you once, pushing you back against the car, the fly of his jeans rough against skin that’s only protected by a flimsy layer of cotton.  He grunts and picks you up by the waist, sitting you down on the cold metal of the hood of the car.  Then he kneels on the ground to take off your boots and peel your jeans off your legs, leaving you exposed and panting in the frosty morning air.

               He stands up and looks you over.  You’re propped up on one arm on the hood of the car, in nothing but panties and your bra shoved up over your breasts, shivering.  He smiles at you as he unbuttons his jeans.  “Best view I’ve seen today,” he says, biting his lip and freeing his cock from his pants.  You blush despite the cold, and watch him take a condom out of his back pocket and put it on.  He steps in close to you, running his hands up your thighs to slip off your panties, pausing to gently massage the places his fingertips have scattered bruises on your skin.  He looks up at you apologetically, and you kiss him hard, sucking his lower lip into your mouth, reassuring him, inviting him to keep right on leaving marks.

               He accepts.  He holds you hard by the hips and shoves himself into you, causing you to cry out and arch your back against him.  He pulls your hips forward with each thrust, his pubic bone crashing up against your clit hard enough to make you yell.  You’re barely balanced on the edge of the car and you wrap your arms around him to stay that way, but he’s got you, and he’s not letting go.  He bathes your neck in kisses as he fucks you, pausing only to whisper a litany in your ear:  “You’re so beautiful, baby” . . . “You feel so good” . . . “I want to hear you scream for me” . . . “Oh god, oh fuck, oh god” . . .

               You come together, Sam’s moans muffled against your shoulder and your screams echoing in the trees. He holds you tightly against him until your spasms subside, shielding you against the fall air. 

               He wraps you in his jacket as he helps you get dressed again, kissing all the places he’s about to cover.  He lifts you up into his arms when he’s finished, letting you wrap your legs around his waist and carrying you to the back seat of the car. 

               “Go to sleep,” he says, opening the back door and helping you inside.  “I’ll wake you up when we get to the pancake house.”

               You nod and curl up in the backseat, using your bag for a pillow.  He closes the door after you, and you’re asleep before he turns the car around.

* * * * *

               “This is literally the Bat-Cave,” you say, stepping out of the car and into the bunker’s garage.  Sam laughs and grabs your bags out of the back seat as you admire the classic cars.  “You’re superheroes.  You have a lair.”

               “And no superpowers,” Sam says, taking your hand and leading you further inside.

               “Neither did Batman!” you say, giggling, giddy with sleepiness and restless from the drive. Sam just yawns and shakes his head as you look around wide-eyed.

                “Dean?” he shouts. You follow him down the hallway, suddenly feeling anxious about how the elder Winchester is going to react to your presence.  In your haste to be impulsive, it hadn’t occurred to you that he might not be as excited for company as Sam is.

               “Kitchen!” comes the answer, and Sam smiles reassuringly as he takes you to see his brother.

               You hang back in the doorway as Sam drops your bags and Dean gets up from the table to give him a quick hug and clap on the back.  “Dean, you remember –“

               “Hey, vampire slayer,” Dean interrupts, smiling warmly and reaching to you for a hug.  “It’s good to see you again,” he says, sweeping you into a firm embrace.  You exhale, relieved.

               “Yeah, you too, Dean,” you say as he lets go.  You glance back at Sam.  He grins and gives you a little nod.

               “You want a beer?” Dean asks you.

               “It’s not even noon,” you reply.  He stares at you blankly, shaking his head slightly.  You relent.  “Sure, why not?”

               “Sam?” he asks, as he goes into the fridge.

               “Keep it cold for me,” Sam says.  “I’m going to take a shower real quick.” He looks to you. “You okay to make yourself at home?” 

               Dean hands you a bottle and clinks it with his.  “She’s great, I got her,” he says.

               Sam raises an eyebrow dubiously.  You shrug and take a swig from the bottle, grabbing a seat at the table.  “Be nice,” he says to Dean.

               Dean feigns offense.  “When am I not nice?” 

               Sam looks pointedly at him for another second, then disappears down the hall.  Dean takes his seat next to you and takes a long pull from his beer.  “Listen,” he says, “I never thanked you properly for your hospitality that night. “

               “No need,” you say.  “You helped me out.  It was no trouble.” 

                “I’m glad you’re here,” he says amiably.  “Maybe now he’ll shut up about you.”

               “Thanks, I think?” you say, raising an eyebrow. 

               You sit and drink, falling into silence, Dean avoiding eye contact.  He takes a breath like he’s about to say something, but then he stops himself.  After he does it a second time, you speak up.  “All right, let’s have it,” you say with a sigh.

               “Have what?” he says innocently, “I just said I’m glad you’re here.”

               “There’s nothing else you want to say?” you ask skeptically.

               Dean shakes his head.  “Don’t know what you’re looking for.”

               “Really?” you say. “No, _you’d better not hurt my brother, or else_ speech?” You laugh as you say it, but it comes out sounding forced. “What kind of brother are you?”

               He smiles and fixes you with a stare.  He considers a moment, then says, “I don’t think you’re going to hurt him,” with a small shrug.

               “All right,” you say warily, going back to your bottle.

               He doesn’t break his gaze.  “I do think you’ve gotta be either stupid or stubborn to get yourself caught up in this shitstorm on purpose,” he says evenly, “and you don’t strike me as stupid.  That tells me you really care about him, and that’s good, because he’s got it pretty bad for you.”

               “Thanks, Dean,” you say with quiet surprise.

               “I’m not finished,” he says, and you brace for the other shoe to drop. “Here’s the thing: there’s still a lot of possible hurt in this scenario, and you’ve gotta realize that nobody can protect you from it.  Not Sammy. Not me.”

               “If you’re talking about me being in danger,” you say testily, “I can take care of myself.”

               “I know it,” he says with a nod. “I saw you fight in that vamp’s nest.  I also saw you get snuck up on in the woods by two humans,” he adds, chuckling, “but in fairness, those humans were the Winchesters.”

               “All right,” you say, “so make your point.”

               He guzzles the rest of his beer.  “My point is, there’s a bigger bad out there than you’ve ever seen.  Hell, than _I’ve_ ever seen.  It’s not gonna matter how good any of us are.  You join this team, there’s only one way it’s likely to end.”

               You smile ruefully and finish your own bottle, your head starting to swim.  “No offense,” you say, “but this speech sounded prettier when Sam gave it to me.”

               “He does have a way with words,” Dean says.  He gets up and goes to the fridge for another bottle.  He holds one up and raises his eyebrows; you shake your head no.  “All right,” he says with a smile, “stubborn it is.  Just wanted to make sure.”  He pops his bottle open and leans on the counter.  “You make my brother happy, and you don’t put him in any danger, then I’m happy to have you on the team.  Okay? We good?”

               You nod.  “We’re good.”

               He takes a few swallows, and you get up to grab your things and find Sam’s room, suddenly overwhelmed by the need for sleep.  As you’re about to walk out, he stops you with a hand on your shoulder.  “Just one more thing, sweetheart,” he says, right up close and smiling sweetly, “You’d better not hurt him.  Or else.” He winks, then turns his back to you and returns to the table, whistling to himself.  You shake your head and sigh heavily, then go looking for the bedrooms.

* * * * *

               “What time is it?” you say with a yawn when Sam comes in and lies down next to you on his bed. 

               It doesn’t surprise you when he answers, “Late,” because you feel actually rested for the first time since he showed up at your door.  _Was that really only two nights ago? It feels like ages.  Another lifetime._  You pick up your phone from the nightstand and squint at the light.  It’s 12:53 am, and you have five missed calls from your mother.  You must groan out loud, because Sam turns to you and props himself up on one elbow, asking, “What’s wrong?”

               You sigh.  “I may have neglected to tell anyone I was leaving before I got into your car.” You put the phone back on the nightstand, face down, and lie back.  “My mom’s looking for me.”

               “Ah,’ he says. “What are you going to tell her?”

               “The truth, I guess,” you reply.

               He lays his hand across your belly, rubbing absently.  “Which truth is that?” he says.

               “I met a gorgeous man and ran away with him. No need to wait up. Please remember to water my ficus,” you say, and he joins you in a small laugh. “I’ll probably leave out the part about the vampires.”

               “Who cares about vampires,” he says with a grin. “I want to hear more about this gorgeous man.” His hand moves from your belly to your waist as he rolls to drape one leg over yours.   You feel him stiffening against your hip.  You shake your head in amazement.

               “Well for one thing,” you say, reaching your hand up into his hair and pulling his face close to you, “he has an insatiable sexual appetite.”

               “Really?” he says, lips hovering an inch over yours. “That sounds awful.”

               “It’s the worst,” you say, a big smile spreading on your face.  He takes his hand from your waist and presses his palm against your pussy, making you moan, making you try to buck up hips that are pinned under his leg.  When your mouth opens he catches one of your lips in his teeth before he kisses you, his lips frantic, his tongue hungry.  He rolls on top of you, hand raking up from your panties to your t-shirt, pulling it off, sweeping you up, kissing you breathless.  

               This time though, when you break away for air, you stop him.  “Wait,” you say, even as you’re gasping and he’s nipping a fresh set of spots into your shoulders.  You push your hands gently against his chest. 

               He stops immediately and looks to you, panting.  “What?” he asks, “Are you okay?”

               “I’m great,” you say, “I just . . . let me, this time.”

               “What?” he asks again, confusion furrowing his eyebrows.

               “Slow down,” you say, letting your hands glide down from his chest and then inch back up underneath his shirt. “You don’t always have to devour me like I’m your last meal,” you say, sweeping your fingertips lightly over his skin, brushing your thumbs over his nipples.  He closes his eyes and hisses through a small smile.  “Let me,” you say again, kissing him with quick, soft pecks as you slowly work his shirt up and over his head.  “Relax.”

               He sighs and gets up on his knees, pulling his shirt off his arms and letting you crawl out from underneath him. He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and murmurs, “As you wish,” even as he consumes you with his eyes.

               “Lie down,” you say, smiling as he complies.  You climb on top of him and begin a trail of kisses at the top of his forehead, making stops along the way at his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, and each of his dimples before pausing to trace his lips slowly with your tongue.  His hands fly up to take hold of you, one splayed across your back and the other on the back of your head, and you allow him to keep you in place for one deep kiss before you pull away again and continue your path downward.  He keeps his hands on you but he doesn’t stop you, so you lick your way down his throat.  You continue down to his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat between his pectorals, stopping at each nipple to wrap your lips around it and flicker your tongue.  His breath comes out in sighs, and his fingertips momentarily dig into you, but otherwise he’s still.

               He starts to squirm as you near his pelvis, trailing your tongue up and down the V of his hips.  He starts to moan when you let your breasts brush “accidentally” against the straining bulge in his boxer-briefs.  He moans louder when you slip the fabric off his hips and let his cock rub between them definitely on purpose.  You watch him watching you, his mouth hanging open as you let your lips slide up the length of his shaft.  You dart out your tongue when you reach the tip, and he briefly closes his fist in your hair, the other fist clenching a handful of bedspread. 

               You tease him this way, with feather-light brushes of your lips and your tongue, until his chest is heaving and he’s white-knuckling the top of the headboard and his hips are starting to pump at the air.  He chokes out a frustrated grunt from deep in his throat.  You smile but you don’t stop, and he lasts maybe another thirty seconds before his fists are in your hair again and he’s holding you still, not especially gently. You look up at him, lips still hovering over the tip of his cock, holding his gaze expectantly.

               “Please,” he says evenly, despite his laboured breathing.

               You can’t help the wicked grin that lights up your face.  “Please what?” you say, biting your lip to keep yourself from giggling. 

His features darken for an instant, and you admire his restraint even as he’s still got you by the hair.  “Please fuck me,” he says, looking you right in the eye with a slight arch of an eyebrow.  His one side of his mouth curls up in an indulgent smirk.  “Or,” he says, quietly but directly, “I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

               You do giggle, and in the time it takes you to get up and slip your panties off, he’s retrieved a condom from his bedside table.  You straddle him and take the packet out of his hands, tearing it open with your teeth and unrolling it down his shaft as he lies back and watches you.  Aside from a momentary fluttering of his eyelids as you guide his cock inside your slick pussy and lower yourself down onto his length, he never takes his eyes off you.  He watches as you pump your hips and grind your clit into him, hands braced on his chest for leverage, with nothing short of adoration.  He moans when you moan, gasps when you gasp, and when you lose yourself chasing your orgasm, head thrashing, grunting with effort, he smiles in genuine wonder. 

               He doesn’t move until you’ve spent yourself and you collapse onto his chest.  He wraps one arm around your back and rolls you over while he’s still inside you.  He brushes the sweat off your forehead with his thumb and smiles at you as you catch your breath.  “Goddamn,” he says, and you smile back.  He clasps one of your hands high up on the pillow and starts pumping his hips.  You move with him, squeezing back with the strength you have left, whimpering.  He covers your face in kisses as he comes.

* * * * *

               You lie together silently for a long while, so long that you’re sure Sam’s drifted off to sleep and you’re surprised when he speaks.  “Are you still awake?” he says, barely above a whisper.

               “Yeah,” you say, nuzzling into his shoulder.  “What’s on your mind?”

               He’s quiet for a moment.  “That thing you said about my last meal,” he says eventually.

               “I didn’t mean it as a criticism,” you say, lifting your head to look up at him.  He’s not looking back at you, but staring straight ahead.

               He shakes his head slightly.  “I know,” he says, “I was just thinking that you’re right, I always do that.” You roll onto your stomach and prop yourself up on your elbows to face him, waiting silently for him to continue.  “I burn through everything good that comes my way as quickly as I can.”

               “Why’s that?” you say gently.

               He thinks for a second.  “Because if I don’t, it’ll be gone, you know?  I can’t hold onto anything.  Nothing ever lasts.”  His expression doesn’t change, but your heart aches anyway.

               “Nothing?” you ask, placing one of your hands on his shoulder.

               He shakes his head again. “Not historically.”

               “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” you say, and he finally looks at you. 

               “I hope not,” he says earnestly, reaching to sweep his hand along your cheek and run his thumb lightly along your lower lip.  “But in my line of work, I really can’t count on there being a tomorrow.”

               “Nobody can,” you say with a small shrug.

               “I guess,” he sighs.  “I guess you just remind me of the things I used to have.  I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

               “Isn’t that a good thing?” you ask.

               He gives you a small smile. “It feels good.”  He pauses.  “It feels like I shouldn’t get attached to it.”

               “I guess we could look at it that way,” you say.  “We could keep trying to stay at arm’s length from one another because it might all be snatched away tomorrow.” You reach up and tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, and he closes his eyes while you do it. “But that’s not why I got in the car, Sam, and I don’t think that’s why you asked me to.” 

               He smiles again, a little more naturally this time.  “No,” he concedes. “It isn’t.”

               “So don’t make it about tomorrow,” you say. “Make it about making up for lost time today.”

               He kisses you, and it’s slow and soft and gentle and full of promise.  When it breaks, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours, his fingers entwined in your hair like he’s never letting go. He sighs.  “Have you ever considered law school?” he says, grinning.  “You are _very_ persuasive.”

* * * * *

               The pounding on the door jolts both of you awake, and you reach instinctively for your guns on your nightstands.  In the span of a second, Sam finds his and points it at the door; you find nothing because you’d forgotten you weren’t in your own bed.  You settle for turning on the bedside lamp.

               “You decent?” Dean yells through the door. 

               Sam puts the gun down and turns to you, naked as the day you were born.  “Nope!” he yells back, lips curling up as he gives you a quick, appreciative once-over. 

               “Well, hurry up, we gotta go!” Dean says, and you can almost hear his eyes rolling.

               You jump out of bed and start searching for your clothes.  Sam tosses you your bra as you retrieve your jeans from the foot of the bed.  Your shirt’s a lost cause, but you find his flannel and throw it on.  He zips up his jeans and hustles to open the door as you turn your back to finish buttoning the shirt.  “What’s up?” he says to his brother, who’s standing in the hallway with eyes averted. 

               “Shifters,” Dean says.  “Might be an alpha.” 

               You’re already tucking your gun into your waistband when Sam turns back to you.  “Wait here,” he says.  “This shouldn’t take too long.”

               “Uhh, like hell!” you protest.  He shoots you a look, both exasperated and resigned.

               “Come or don’t,” Dean says, “but make up your minds.  We’ve got an hour’s drive ahead of us.”

               “I’m coming,” you say, before Sam can object any further.  He doesn’t try. You finish getting dressed, and the three of you head quickly to the garage. 

               When the Impala comes into view, you and Sam stop to look at each other for a second, then quickly back at Dean, who’s making his way to the driver’s side door.  You shout in unison.

               “Shotgun!”


End file.
